Utter Confusion
by SquirrelISDead0304
Summary: In which Eragon and Murtagh must set aside their differences to overcome a deadly foe that has swooped in from a distant land to claim Alagaesia for his master. Intended to be a crack (more like let-off-some-steam) fic.


**Author's Note: I not happy. I have not been so for two days now. I lost a flashdrive and with it I lost my most precious documents-many of which were stories I have been working and hoping to get published, fan fiction chapters, and character profiles and story notes. **

**The concept for this piece was one I mentioned in a different fanfic. I never intended to to write this fanfic, but after a brief conversation and a day of angst, I have decided to go ahead and write a LOTR Inheritance crossover. (Horseyyay, I am lovingly glaring at you.)**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing save for the cockatrices and serial killers living in my flash drive. **

**A special thanks to Ana, without whom I would be in worse shape than I am right now. I will sit my fanny down and write out some new chapters of Descention very soon.**

* * *

**Utter Confusion**

None forgot the day they came.

The battle had been fierce; the blood of the dead and dying, the charred heaps of armour that smoked and smouldered beneath the sun, formed a thick blanket of carnage across the Burning Plains. Those still capable of fighting- the Urgals with their relentless desire for venence, the dwarves whose axes had not dulled, the humans many in scarlet, others in a patchwork of whatever they had seeming found laying about-were forced to slog through the pools of mud and ichor and trample their fallen comrades, all the while avoiding pits of flame, as they sought to slay each other.

At varying points flashes of green, orange, red, and many other colours would light the field as enemy magicians cross each other. Above on a plateau, fire and similar flashes could be seen as the dragon riders; one each for their respective faction battled each other.

It was in the midst of strife and hate, that all of them; the dwarves, the elves, the humans, the urgals, and riders felt it; a strange dread that blossomed in their hearts.

As the battle raged, the feeling grew; the dread turning to ice that twisted the guts of many. Some turned their gazes away from their enemies and looked up toward the sky. Above, far beyond the range of any bowman, nine, tiny, dark specks circled.

Then they heard it. Screams the likes of which none had heard before rent the air, and the tiny specks were swiftly growing larger. Wailing, the nine specks morphed into creatures the likes of none had ever seen-save few, but unknowingly they too were wrong.

They dove into the throngs of soldiers, screeching as they tore men apart with beak and claw, and upon their featherless grey backs were riders in black, shrieking and cackling as their mounts bowled into horsemen and footmen alike, before ascending.

In the air the black riders shrieked and screaming, jeering at the pathetic mortals below, in a language none but they could understand.

Stricken in fear and frozen in dread, soldiers on both sides fell still, wide eyes glazing over with mind numbing terror, as their weapons fell into the sand from nerveless fingers.

Again the riders descended, ploughing down soldiers of all races, and all loyalties. Their master in need of allies, had sent them across the seas to discover what they may, and this land- brimming with unrest and hate, had called to them. And come they had like moths drawn to flames.

Their Captain, had once turned an inhospitable land into a flourishing kingdom, using the strife with the rival clans of Arnor to his advantage. Here where he sensed the strife was great, and the lands more fertile, was quickly brought to task.

He would build for himself a country here, greater than the first, and he would supply his master, with foreign slaves, ships, soldiers, and machines of war. He would be the Witch King of Angmar and… he'd worry about his country's new name later.

The roaring of dragons could be heard, and descending from high, jets of flame pouring from their maws, two dragons one of brilliant sapphire the other of radiant ruby met the captain in aerial battle.

Swooping and diving he avoided the flames, and he screamed with venom and rage at the riders upon the dragons' backs.

Brothers the dragon riders were, and enemies as well, but seeing their armies being pillaged by these horrific fiends was enough to stop their fighting and force them to take up swords together once more.

But the leader of nine, for the leader he must be, wearing a spiked helm unlike the rest, was quick and flighty. He outmanoeuvred them, and something about him, beyond the horrific visage that was his iron helm-made them falter, made them fear. For neither realized the captains weapon was dread.

Around them the other eight shrieked and cried. So terrifying were those cries that the rider of the blue dragon dropped his sword. Once they had nearly lost their captain outside the gates of Minas Tirith, and it terrified them to no end. To his aid they now came.

"Haha! Long I have missed the sight of Morgoth's stupid lizards!"

They taunted, laughed, jeered, and screamed with their voices of the dead, as the swooped and dove upon the dragons and their riders. They did not touch the dragons or their riders, for their wish was to overwhelm them and direct their fiery breath elsewhere.

None were prepared for what followed, as they were attacked by magic from both the riders, and from the ground. They hadn't realized how low they'd flown, and peering down each could see the shining remnant of elves. Driven by fear of such an onslaught, the captain called for them to flee.

They had had their fill of fun, and he had a country to build, and real-estate to claim. Their 'sport' as they had often heard orcs call it, was not something they need die over. And so far from their master and Mordor, it would not be in their best interest to lose a bird.

The riders, outraged by the carnage laid in the rider's wake were quick to pursue them, for the heedless death and chaos they had caused could not go unpunished. It occurred to neither of them that the quick deaths many of the men had received from the beaks and talons of their birds had saved a number of those men from dying slowly under the sun. And many of them would have died as it was.

_'Those blasted Ra'zac! I thought there were only four left!'_

_ 'Eragon…'_ Murtagh chanced a glance at his brother, but Eragon was focused solely upon the retreated black clad riders. He too knew only of four Ra'zac- well two Ra'zac, the other two were actually Lethrblaka- and there were allot similarities between the Ra'zac and their parents and the fiends flying away from them.

The Ra'zac wore black cloaks, these guys were also wearing black cloaks, the Ra'zac were known to utter high-pitched cries from time to time, these things sounded like a chorus souls being destroyed by black magic, the Ra'zac had beaked, grey, feather and hairless mounts, these also had beaked, grey, ugly putrid smelling mounts. But the mounts were different. The Lethrblaka had four legs, and these things had two. He didn't expect Eragon to know that, as his cousin had grown up in a peasant village far from the king and his evil henchmen.

Perhaps these were merely a different breed of Ra'zac. That could be, but something was wrong with that notion as well. It was nothing more than a feeling in his gut, but it was enough to make him doubt these nine black clad creatures were Ra'zac.

_'I think it best if we let them go. I must report this to the king, and you must tend to your people.'_

_ 'I can't Murtagh! They killed my uncle, and I must see him avenged. Please, Murtagh, please aid me in the hunt for them as you once did.'_

The riders exchanged glances. Eragon was desperate he knew, but he also knew his younger brother was sagging under the heavy reality of sharing Morzan as a father. They spent their time fighting, and even if they hadn't- the new Murtagh had brought couldn't have been an easy thing to stomach at the best of times. Who the Hell wanted that monstrosity for a father? He would have been completely out of sorts if someone had told him that.

_'What of Thorn and Saphira? They've been fighting and flying all day. This chase will only exhaust them more so, and dealing with two Ra'zac will be hard enough, never mind nine, and their parents.'_

_ 'I'm willing to avenge Garrow, for I consider him family.'_ Saphira's voice like water rang out within their minds.

_'Thorn what say you?'_

Smoke puffed from the dragon's nose. _'Anything to delay the king's wrath for our apparent failure to catch Eragon is most welcomed.'_

_ 'You sure about this?' _

Thorn smiled, pulling his rider into a mental embrace. _'Not at all, but I still rather nine Ra'zac than the king.'_

Murtagh fell silent. If Thorn was willing to join them on this suicide mission then he'd join as well. He laid his head against Thorn's crimson scales and closed his eyes. He could almost imagine it was just the two of them….

A screech rent the air, and Murtagh quickly raised his head.

Eight of the nine were veering off in different directions, and the one with that awfully horrific helm lazily circled to face them. If the guy was trying to look as terrifying as possible, he had amazingly good taste. Just looking at him was enough to make him shudder.

"Thou fools!"

The black rider shouted to be heard over the tumultuous wing beats of his mount and their dragons. He held aloft a narrow, four foot long sword, and Murtagh drew his own. He'd never heard such archaic language before. He'd read it in a few books, but never had he heard I uttered. And the cold voice that uttered it certainly belonged to no Ra'zac.

_'Oh shit!'_

_ 'What's wrong?'_ Murtagh couldn't risk looking at his brother. He needed to keep this horrific rider in his sights.

_'I've forgotten something….'_

_ 'Well it'll have to wait!'_

Chagrin flooded Murtagh's mind. He couldn't imagine what in Alagaesia had Eragon left behind that was so bloody important? They had a mutch bigger issue to deal with than Eragon's seemingly endless tide of mental hiccoughs.

_'I got so excited that I forgot- I forgot to retrieve my sword….'_

_ 'Eragon!'_ Two voices shouted. Thorn was too stunned to speak.

Murtagh on the other hand was vexed, and he'd kill Eragon with his own hands when this fight was over with… assuming Saphira in her rage, didn't beat him to it.

"Return to thy war, and leave me and my brethren in peace! Go now, or I shall not slay thee, but destroy the flesh and enslave thy fea to aid me in the building of my kingdom."

Murtagh frowned. He'd never heard of a Fea, but it sounded an awful lot like a soul based on context. Eragon burst into laughter.

"The souls of the dead cannot be controlled by magic! That's impossible! They certainly can't be raised to build cities of all things!"

Blockhead though his brother could be, Eragon did make a valid point. At least he knew how to call a bluff when he saw one-

"Impossible thou says?" Flames suddenly burst along the black clad rider's blade. Magic! Murtagh's head reeled as he realized his intuition had not failed him. This man was no Ra'zac!

Murtagh turned to his brother. _'We need to leave right now!'_

But his cousin gave no response mental or otherwise. He sat rigid in his saddle, staring at the rider. Murtagh looked back and nearly bit off his own tongue.

The rider had thrown back his hood, and where a head ought to have been, there was nothing, save a crown floating in the air. They were fighting… a king? If Murtagh had been confused before he most certainly was now.

How many evil kings were in the world? How many would he have to deal with in his lifetime?

They circled for a time, and then with a scathing hoarse cry the bird dove at Saphira. It buffeted her with its wings, packed wherever it could with its long pointed beak, and finding an opening it flew under Saphira, talons grazing her scales, cutting clean through the leather straps that held Eragon's saddle in place.

Saphira's jerks of pain as she tried to ward off the grey menace were enough to dislodge the saddle. Shouting in fear Murtagh watched as his cousin plummeted toward the earth. The black rider dove chasing after, and Thorn was quick to follow.

Thorn's greater weight helped him gain upon the ugly grey flying thing, but the black rider had been granted a head start, and even now the creature's taloned feet were stretched out, and with a swift a movement they caught the falling dragon rider.

_"NO!" _Murtagh shouted it mentally and verbally.

With a rough jerk Thorn pulled from the dive. He couldn't risk barrelling into the creature and making it drop Eragon though the idiot did deserve it; leaving his sword behind. A good bonk to the head might actually do him some good.

Swiftly the black rider flew to northward, taking Eragon with him.

For a long time, Thorn, Murtagh, and Saphira who swiftly joined them gave chase, but as night began to creep over the world, the rider was getting harder to see, and Saphira's injuries were taxing her. Eventually they were forced to stop lest Thorn or Saphira pitch from the sky.

Taking up the chase the following morning, the three searched hither and thither, but none knew wither the rider had gone. Though Eragon was neither seen nor heard from again, Saphira survived, and that at least gave them some hope for the idiot's return.


End file.
